Picket Fence Post

Some people think I exaggerate when I complain about a youth sports world gone bananas, and lament that some folks take grade school-aged children’s games waaaayy too seriously.

Then I read stories from the Boston Herald and Patriot Ledger about a Massachusetts youth soccer coach for a team of 6-7 year-olds who quit coaching following an uproar over his preseason letter to parents and the kids assigned to his team, named “Green Death.”

Some have defended this guy by saying that his letter was intended to be tongue-in-cheek and that those who got upset about it didn’t get his sarcasm. In his resignation letter, the coach said people “failed to see the humor” in his letter, adding, “It was meant as a satire of those who take youth sports too seriously for the wrong reasons.”

Below I’ve excerpted some portions of the coach’s original letter (original letter is on the Patriot Ledger  web site). Judge for yourselves what you think of this whole hub-bub, keeping in mind that the players about whom he’s discussing are SIX and SEVEN, and the refs he mentions that he heckles are around 12 years old:

“Green Death has had a long and colorful history and I fully expect every player and parent to be on board with the team. This is not a team, but a family (some say cult), that you belong to forever. We play fair at all times, but we play tough and physical soccer . . . We . . . prefer the gritty determination of journeymen who bring their lunch pail to work every week, chase every ball and dig in corners like a Michael Vick pit bull.

. . . Some say soccer at this age is about fun and I completely agree. However, I believe winning is fun and losing is for losers . . . While I spent a good Saturday morning listening to the [soccer league's] legal liability BS which included a 30 minute dissertation on how we need to baby the kids and especially the refs, I was disgusted. The kids will run, they will fall, get bumps, bruises and even bleed a little (but I do hope the other team is the one bleeding). If the refs can’t handle a little criticism, then they should turn in their whistle . . . My heckling of the refs is actually helping them develop as people . . . Second place trophies are nothing to be proud of as they serve only as a reminder that you missed your goal . . .

. . . [I]t is imperative that we all fight the good fight, get involved now and resist the urge to become sweat-xedo-wearing yuppies who sit on the sidelines in their LL Bean chairs sipping mocha-latte-half-caf-chinos while discussing reality TV and home decorating with other feeble-minded folks. I want to hear cheering . . .

Lastly, we are all cognizant of the soft bigotry that expects women and especially little girls to be dainty and submissive; I wholeheartedly reject such drivel. My overarching goal is [to] develop ladies who are confident and fearless, who will stand up for their beliefs and challenge the status quo. Girls who will kick ass and take names on the field, off the field and throughout their lives. I want these girls to be winners in the game of life. Who’s with me?”

It should be noted that a league official told the Boston Herald, “He chewed out a 12-year-old [ref] so bad last year she said she won’t referee anymore.”

When contacted by the Herald, the coach said, “I stand by my comments. This isn’t two hours of free babysitting.”

All I can say is that if my SIX or SEVEN-year-old girl was assigned to this “Green DEATH” team, and I had received this letter, I’d insist she be assigned to another team or else she’d sit out the season.

What say you guys? If you’re not sure, read his whole letter in context. I’d love to read your comments.

It happened yesterday afternoon. For the first time. And, for what I hope, is the last time. It better be.

The Girl had a school assignment about which she’d never informed me or her father. And had another parent not called me to ask a question about said assignment, I would’ve likely never known about it, until the teacher contacted us to inquire into the assignment’s whereabouts.

“Did you get an assignment to make a brochure about Denmark?” I asked The Girl yesterday while I covered the telephone receiver where a mom of another student in her class was patiently waiting.

The Girl smiled impishly, shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oops!”

Yeah, oops all right.

After I went nutty – telling her never to do this again or else there’d be hell to pay and that SHE is responsible for her school work – I went online to quickly look for some appropriate web sites which would provide her with the information she needed and let her take it from there. (I didn’t have time to watch as she waded through the Internet.) A cursory check of some web sites didn’t yield the type of information she needed, so I fully intended to drag all three kids to the library and let The Girl talk to the librarian about her project while I fumed.

But then, after reading The Youngest Boy’s homework sheet for the week, I realized he had to start work on his animal project (he’s working on a cheetah diorama), plus do his nightly reading. I looked in my wallet. I had no cash to pay off an outstanding library late fee that I’d be required to pay at the library, therefore I’d have to stop at an ATM. Dinner wasn’t even in my mind yet. It was 4:15. So I sat down to do more internet research until I found three web sites which The Girl could look at without fear of inappropriate Danish images popping onto the screen while I was busy at the kitchen counter in cheetah-land helping/arguing with The Youngest Boy over his project.

When The Girl started trying to print some documents from the web sites to use on her brochure, we discovered that my printer was out of toner. Irreparably out of toner. The kind of toner you can’t just pick up at Staples. Fabulous. So The Girl had to go old school and create the brochure by hand, draw the Danish flag instead of using a computer-generated flag image. I then had to write a note to the teacher – The Girl was afraid she’d get in trouble with her teacher (I think she’s more afraid of her teacher than me) – telling her that our printer was out of toner therefore The Girl did everything by hand.

Have I said lately how much I dislike school projects?

My twin fourth graders are taking the MCAS tests today. For those of you who do not know what the MCAS tests are, they’re state-mandated assessment exams – officially called the Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System – which are used to evaluate whether the students have learned what state education officials think they should have already learned, as well as a tool to measure how well any given school system has done its job based on student test results. (The vast majority of students pass these tests, FYI, though there are variations on how those who passed the test fared.)

However, for the past few weeks, my fourth graders have been swallowed up in what’s best described as “MCAS mania.” School staff, apparently, have been hugely focused on making sure the students are comfortable with the MCAS test format so the children have been doing practice tests and talking all about MCAS. The message has been drummed into their heads: THIS IS A BIG, IMPORTANT TEST, ONE TO BE TAKEN, VERY, VERY SERIOUSLY. My 10-year-old son reported that the other day his class created inspirational posters to hang in the classroom on the MCAS test days to encourage students to keep going, even if they might want to stop during the exam.

At least one of my fourth graders’ room parents (can’t remember which one) sent e-mails (likely under the direction of school staff) reminding parents to send their children to school with two healthy snacks and two bottles of water on each of the four days when the MCAS tests are being administered. (Four days dedicated to these tests? Absurd.)

The Spouse – while joking about the unlikely risk of rampant, sudden-onset dehydration among fourth graders that would necessitate two bottles of water and two snacks, in addition to their lunch – couldn’t believe how the test was being portrayed as something which required extra food and water supplies, as he sarcastically suggested that we send our kids in with orange slices to help them make it through. Orange slices, of course, are the pick-me-up snack du jour on the sidelines of children’s sporting contests, where completing a game without food is considered too much for the kids to endure.

My two kids — normally good students — were all anxious and worried over the weekend about the MCAS test today, and that feeling only intensified last night. This morning they looked downright scared as they got ready for school. And this is only the first day of four days of testing. This just is not right. Ten-year-olds shouldn’t be scared about going to school to demonstrate what they’ve learned thus far.

I understand that this is a high stakes test, not just for the kids, but for the teachers and the schools, and even for property values for a community. But something that looked good on paper — discerning whether schools are succeeding in fulfilling their purpose, educating the children of the Commonwealth — has spiraled out of control. When fear of taking this test becomes palatable, seeps into the minds of the students and makes them nervous wrecks, things have gone too far. Isn’t there a better, less stressful way to do this, figuring out if the schools are educating kids in a way that doesn’t suck all the oxygen out of the classrooms? This can’t be the only way.

Image credit: Massachusetts Department of Education.

Item #1: School Science Fair

When I went to my twin fourth graders’ science fair — called the Invention Convention — I was fully expecting to see tons of inventions made, not by fourth graders, but by 40-year-olds. During previous big project events (last year it was a science experiment, the year before that an animal project), I’d gone to school and was saddened to see my kids’ projects, which were clearly done by the kids, displayed next to projects which were clearly done with massive parental “help.”

Articles like this recent one in the Boston Globe about parents who take over their children’s school projects only raised my expectations about what I’d be walking into. One school principal told the Globe, “When parents step back, they and teachers can see what a child truly is capable of.” The articles added that one school had “stopped judging for prizes at various events because of the disparity of parental involvement.”

However I’m pleased to report that the inventions I saw during yesterday’s school event seemed to have been done by the actual kids, not their parents. All the children with whom I spoke were able to articulate how they designed their invention and how they worked. And they all seemed so proud.

Now that The Eldest Boy and The Girl are done with their invention projects, The Youngest Boy, at 7, has to do an animal project where he has to come up with a diarama and a poster board based on research on his chosen animal, a cheetah. Thus far, he’s been distinctly unhappy with having to do this project. The Spouse and I are now having to drag him, kicking and screaming, through the steps of the project. Fun times.

Item #2: ‘Irrational’ Sports Fandom

The first official day of the brand, spankin’ new Red Sox baseball season is almost upon us. (I can hardly wait. The AIG news, the economy/bailout stories, etc. are big downers. While I’m eagerly anticipating baseball’s return, I saw an article in the Boston Globe this past Sunday by a postdoctoral fellow from the Harvard Medical School who said we loyal sports fans telling we fans are irrational and stupid.

In explaining why folks who jump on the bandwagons of teams which are doing well are more rational, Samuel Arbesman wrote:

“You might hold a great attachment to the 2004 Red Sox World Series champions, but only around 10 percent of this year’s roster consists of players from that team (actual fact!). And if you have been rooting for the Sox for more than 14 years, you’re rooting for a fully replaced team — different players are playing the game, different owners get your ticket money. You can see why this is an absurdity. It is in no way the same team, and you are rooting for it out of inertia. You might as well root for any totally different team — the Oakland A’s, the Tokyo Giants. At least you’d be making an informed decision.”

This very same logic (or illogic as I may see it) was applied by my 7-year-old when we were watching NCAA men’s basketball games last weekend. My chosen team (the UMass Minutemen) didn’t make the tournament and the team from my grad school (American University) got bounced in the first round. After that, I almost always rooted for the underdog with the lower seed, unless the lower seeded team is UConn. My son just couldn’t wrap his mind around that line of thinking, as he’d root for the higher seed. “But my team would have the better chance of winning,” he said. “Why not root for them if they’re gonna win?”

He had a point.

(more…)

You know things are bad in the economy when even cartoon characters start getting laid off. This past week, the cartoon The Pajama Diaries by Terri Libenson, has featured a storyline where the married dad of two young kids, Rob Kaplan, got let go along with 200 of his fellow employees. His wife Jill is a work-from-home graphic arts consultant who’s clinging to her remaining clients.

Today’s installment, in particular, was pretty grim, depicting the downward spiral of the dad Rob’s mental state as he goes 20 days after sending out his resume without even getting an interview. He said, “I don’t understand — I’m an expert in my field. Who are they talking to?” To which his wife responded, “I’m guessing all the other laid-off experts in your field.”

On Libenson’s blog she acknowledged the change in tone saying, “Just as America is feeling the pinch of the recession, I’d like PD-land to reflect the current climate.”

I’ve been a fan of Pajama Diaries for a while as I relate to the tales of work-from-home mom feeling as though you just can’t do everything, or do it well. And, sadly, I’m guessing there are far too many families who can now relate to the tales of the out-of-work family guy or gal.

Do you Twitter?

Twitter – now commonly used as a verb even though it’s actually a noun — is the name of a web site where users sign up for free accounts and are then afforded 140 characters/spaces to say either what they’re doing at the moment, or what big ideas they’re pondering. (My favorite use is as a vehicle for complaining.)

I only jumped on the Twitter bandwagon last fall after attending a blogging conference where folks said that to be REALLY connected with the internet community ya gotta be on Twitter. So I relented and signed up for a Twitter account and started posting “tweets,” the name for the entries. (The bird analogy can be a bit too cute for my tastes.) After noodling around on the site for a while, I located the Twitter accounts for colleagues, friends and folks whom I admire and began “following” them, which is the web site’s stalker-ish term for signing up to receive their tweets on your Twitter page. Eventually, some of the people whom I was following started following me, as did others whom I didn’t know and started me wondering why they decided to join my Twitter peeps.

A few months ago, I also signed up for a group called “Twitter Moms,” a group with its own page and separate sign-in which has areas of special interest to moms.

I discovered that Twittering had gone completely mainstream when I saw that a mom was featured Twittering in this past Sunday’s cartoon, Foxtrot. A mom’s young son, who was one of her Twitter followers, read his mother’s tweet: “It’s such a BEAUTIFUL day. I’m thinking I should make the kids play outside. Going upstairs to look for Jason. He’s probably on the computer.” This gave Jason a heads-up to flee the room with his friend who quipped, “Man, I wish my mom used Twitter.”

Anyone who wants to join the Foxtrot mom and me in posting random, sometimes entertaining 140 posts, can find me at: twitter.com/MeredithOBrien.

The 10-year-old Eldest Boy got into the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books by Jeff Kinney a while ago. And, to put it mildly, he’s smitten.

For the uninitiated, the books are “diaries” of a geeky middle school boy, where the text is printed on faux-lined paper, interspersed with juvenile-looking stick figure illustrations. The books are snarky, slightly subversive, anti-authority and, at times, laugh out loud funny.

My fourth grade son so adores this series — the most recent installment was published in January — that he wanted to share the books with me, hoping to hook me the way he hooked me on the Harry Potter series last year. The Eldest Boy read aloud the latest book, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Last Straw, to me over the course of the past two weeks. At first, it was just him and me, with me being reduced to hysterics upon hearing that the father of the main character Greg, used to warn his son not to get out of bed when he was little, because he might run into children’s author Shel Silverstein in the darkened hallway. (When Greg was a boy, he used to find Silverstein’s photo on the back of his books frightenting, so his father took advantage of this fear in order to keep the kid in bed. . . you have to read it in context. ‘Tis funny.)

But when The Youngest Boy and The Girl heard me laughing until my gut hurt in their brother’s room, they figured they were missing out, so they horned in on The Eldest Boy’s nightly readings. He wound up doing his dramatic readings for an audience of three. And did quite a good job, I might add.

This week, The Eldest Boy is planning on commencing his reading of the second book in the series, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules. I’m eagerly anticipating more belly laughs, as are his siblings, who kind of like listening to their brother read aloud.

Image credit: Amazon.com.

Curt Schilling today made official what we in Red Sox Nation had already known in our collective gut for some time: He’s retiring from baseball.

Schilling will forever be known among legions of baseball fans for his heroism in the 2004 season and for the infamous bloody sock, where he played through pain and blood in order to help the Red Sox make history and win a World Series for the first time in 86 years. (See video from that bloody World Series game here.)

In his blog, 38 Pitches, Schilling wrote:

“The party has officially ended. After being blessed to experience 23 years of playing professional baseball in front of the world’s best fans in so many different places, it is with zero regrets that I am making my retirement official.”

My kids saw Schilling, a married dad of four, as a role model and overall good guy. They know that he was hurting during those pivotal 2004 games and he’ll have a special place in their childhood memories.

Thanks Schill, for the classy hard work and dedication.

Image credit: AP/Boston Globe.

Item #1: Blaming Rihanna

This story makes me so very sad; the enthralled fans of a young male pop star, who allegedly beat up his girlfriend in February – he was charged with two felony counts for assault – believe that SHE is the guilty party. I’m speaking, of course, about the assault on singer Rihanna allegedly at the hands of her then-boyfriend, singer Chris Brown.

Today’s New York Times reported that many of Brown’s female teen fans don’t think he should be punished and, in fact, think the situation, and Rihanna’s injuries, are her fault. The paper quoted a ninth grade girl as saying: “She probably made him mad for him to react like that. You know, like, bring it on?”

The paper continued:

“In a recent survey of 200 teenagers by the Boston Public Health Commission, 46 percent said Rihanna was responsible for what happened; 52 percent said both bore responsibility, despite knowing Rihanna’s injuries required hospital treatment. On a Facebook discussion, one girl wrote, ‘She probly ran into a door and was too embarrassed so blamed it on chris.’”

Item #2: Over-Caffeinated Mom

Scene: Yesterday, at the school bus stop with The Youngest Boy (age 7).

The Youngest Boy, wildly bouncing a basketball with an insane amount of energy while chatting non-stop: You drink too much caffeine.

Me, holding a mug of hot coffee: I’ve only had [*pauses to look inside the mug*]  less than half a cup of coffee so far this morning.

The Youngest Boy: You’ve had too much from all the other stuff you’ve had on other days.

And that was BEFORE I watched the Congressional hearing on the abominable AIG bonuses and got all worked up, running around the house with a pitchfork, etc.

Item #3: Nixing Spring Soccer

During the 2007-2008 youth basketball season here in my town, The Girl, then age 9, injured her ankle and missed the second half of the hoop season, as well as a month of her once-a-week gymnastics classes.

When spring soccer 2008 began a few weeks later, The Girl started playing with promise. Then her ankle started aggravating her again, to the point where tears would come to her eyes. I had her ankle examined by doctors. She received X-rays. She had a couple of physical therapy visits. Got a brace and missed half of the spring soccer season, as well as the remainder of her gymnastics season, including the annual show for which The Spouse and I had shelled out cash for non-refundable tickets.

The Girl took the summer of 2008 “off” from organized sports. By the fall of 2008 she started playing fall soccer. In a replay of the spring debacle, she commenced the soccer season with verve but was felled again by her ankle when she began experiencing pain, despite wrapping and elevating and using an ankle brace. Saw more doctors. Got an MRI. Missed tail-end of soccer season.

The 2008-2009 basketball season started in December, but The Girl missed the first half of it, as she was still recovering. Once she got the medical clearance to resume organized sports in January, The Girl played out the rest of the hoop season.

Now she’s on the cusp of the 2009 spring soccer season. I’ve literally charted out her ankle woes on a sheet of paper, noting how many incomplete seasons she’s experienced since 2007, in an attempt to lead The Girl to the obvious conclusion that she shouldn’t play soccer this time around. I’ve told her that there are plenty of other sports or extra curricular activities she could do instead, adding that I want her to heal completely and be healthy and strong enough to play a full soccer season in the fall. “You don’t want to be the kid who everyone says plays well, but will inevitably get hurt half-way through the season, do you?” I asked.

She loves soccer and doesn’t want to let people down, like coaches or teammates She’s only 10 for God’s sake. My fingers remain crossed that she’ll voluntarily agree with my conclusion — no soccer this spring – so I won’t have to step in and issue the dictate myself. Here’s to hoping . . .

Late last month I wrote a missive about how a second grader at The Youngest Boy’s school had christened himself “King Chaos” and was ruling the playground with an iron fist, dispatching a pair of kids to apprehend and rough up others who were playing the game of Chaos, an ad hoc game of tag involving teams and putting kids on opposing teams in jail (they can get out of jail by getting tagged by teammates).

The latest news on King Chaos’ Reign of Terror: The King Chaos squad had become rougher, I was told. The Youngest Boy, in fact, got kicked and punched last week when he reported that he wouldn’t willingly go to King Chaos’ jail. I then spoke with other second graders — and at least one other mom of a second grader — and learned that many children had grown fearful of the Tony Soprano in the making.

But, in response to these reports, the school principal has now informed the school populace that if they play Chaos, they’ll miss a week of recess.

When I asked The Youngest Boy how recess went today, he told me that he and his friends played good old fashioned tag and King Chaos didn’t pursue his campaign of intimidation. The good guys won a round for change. Tag is still played so that kids like The Youngest Boy can burn off his energy. Everybody wins. Huzzah!